


Maps and Papers and the Love Club

by lechatnoir



Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Punk, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lechatnoir/pseuds/lechatnoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Tooth's the head of a little punk gang of gals, and Pitch is a studious kid who has a bit of a self esteem issue. He copes with holing himself up in the library and she copes with punching out idiots who decide to try and rub her the wrong way. He can't stand her, in all actuality, but it just so happens that they get stuck together for tutoring, having failed their history midterm. Eventually one thing leads to another, or they'll try to kill each other in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In The Old Days, It Was Enough

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a little conversation that I had with Mem (thememoryguardian , currently thespookymemory over on tumblr since most of my rotg fics, I use her muse as a inspiration for Tooth so !! ) 
> 
> also inspired by Lorde's song, The Love Club . 
> 
> also up on tumblr. you can find me on tumblr @ chrysanthemumskies 
> 
> uvu here we go!

I.

It should be easy, writing this essay. 

You’re allocated fifty minutes of class time, to answer questions and a essay.

It’s all easy, for him. 

History’s one of the classes that he excels in - ask a question about the history of Mongolia , or the Tsars of Russia and the royal dynasties, and he’ll have a essay and powerpoint presentation whipped up in the span of ten minutes without breaking a sweat or stammering.

It’s a constant reassurance, a constant basis of simplicity, in all actuality. Because he enjoys the constant hum of old textbooks and being holed up in the library, away from the prying eyes of everyone and away from the snickers of the idiots who have to make a comment on his appearance, or how they think if they whisper behind his back it’s not as obvious as if they were to shove a list of reasons why they don’t like him . 

 

_You’re so weird!_

_What kind of a name is Pitch Black?_

_I bet he doesn’t eat or sleep -- maybe he’s a zombie or a vampire, that’s why he never smiles , or why no one likes him!_

_They’re all stupid anyway_ , he thinks to himself as he adjusts his glasses and rustles through the books on the shelves, opening up to a old worn out page and reading up on the conquets of Tsar Alexander I of Russia, a soft smile on his face as he let the old familiar dates wash over him in a simple rhythm of consistancy. 

(Dates are numbers, numbers are reliable. 

Not as reliable as political alliances, or even well, royal regimes. 

 

Certainly not as reliable as people. People are never reliable.

People hurt you, and burn you, and tear you apart, only to wonder why you won’t play their little games, or why you crack and break away from the crowd.

He’s fairly passive, he thinks. 

_I’m just tired, and it’s no point in trying to argue with them anyway. At least today I didn’t get my shoes tossed up on the telephone pole on campus. A+ job, Pitchiner._

Still, he takes his time to get his things and make the trek across campus to the history center, where one very easy history midterm awaited him. 

Nothing hard, right? 

_Right._

II. 

Tooth is loud, and brash, and color. That’s what she is - loud and brash and color, and the smell of cigarette smoke.

And there’s something of a “I don’t give a shit about you all, fuck off “ attitude about her that snaps him out of concentrating on writing this essay about the contributions of the Silk Road and how it revolutionized China and the clock was ticking louder than usual and yet she comes in, fishnet stockings with holes in them and shorts with enough safety pins in them to supply a small office, a ripped up band tank top and a brown faux leather jacket on, with a large ensamble of pins - pastel colors and vibrant neons and ridiculous quotes that he can’t read from where he’s sitting (in the middle, towards the back) of the large lecture hall and there’s about twenty minutes left until the end of this midterm and yet she’s loud and obnoxious as anything in the world and he wonders why his hand hurts until he looks down at his hand and realizes that his wooden pencil is slowly cracking with how hard he’s holding it. 

 

She’s rude, for one thing, and her hair has about five different colors (something like a hummingbird) and flashes the professor a grin as she saunters up the steps and sits down a few seats away from him and _no_ he doesn’t slightly get _nervous_ or panicky. 

Certainly not. 

(He thinks to himself as to why she decided to do that - there were plenty of other seats that were available, did she have a vendetta against him? Why was she even here ? 

It wasn’t like she actively came to lecture class anyway, or well, it’s not like a lot of people came to lecture class since it really wasn’t mandatory and apparently people had _other_ more important things to do than learn. ) 

Still he glances over to her and realizes that she’s somewhat staring at him before flashing him a smirk, hastely extinguished cigarette still handing from her lips 

(that were painted with plume colored lipstick that suited her) 

He certainly did not shiver, thank you very much.

(Even if he was curious about her, deep down. ) 

III.

He doesn’t see her again - well, that’s not true.

He hears her, sometimes, or rather he hears the rumbling of her old motorcycle that she brings onto campus even though she’s been told multiple times that she can’t do it .

(Although he’s pretty sure President Moony has effectively given up on trying to correct her delinquent based habits and just lets her do anything really.

As long as the police aren’t coming on campus, that is. ) 

Still, when the professor announces that he’ll have the grades of their midterms available next lecture, he manages to fix his glasses and fiddle with the hem of his sweater vest while waiting for the results.

One by one he hears the names of his fellow collegues be called , one name after another until he hears his name -- 

And he tells himself to slow down, to walk normally. 

When he gets the paper there’s an angry red ‘F’ on it that manages to chill him.

Not too long after, he sits down into his seat and reads the comments, one of which there was a request for him to attend tutoring the same day. 

He hears her waltz him - actually, she seems livid and angry, and her footsteps are loud and brash and enough to echo in the lecture hall as she glares at the paper that she’s handed back.

She gets a ‘F’ as well, but he doesn’t quite know that yet.

He doesn’t think he’ll see her, in fact, he’s surprised she came to get her results back anyway, because she doesn’t seem like the type to care about anything except maybe, what was it ? 

Sex , Drugs and Rock and Roll? 

IV.

The library seems to be judging him, when he stumbles in , fiddling with his glasses and walking to the tutoring section.

He sits down and takes out a pen and a notepad, ready to deconstruct the monster of a essay that has essentially shaken him up a bit. 

He smells the cigarette smoke before she even sits down and mutters, adjusting the distance between the pen and the notepad so that it’s perfectly aligned. 

“You know you’re not allowed to smoke inside or on campus.” 

He hates the fact that he sounds so small and meek and timid, like a grey mouse. 

She can only roll her eyes and put her feet up on the table, headphones blasting music as she extinguishes the cigarette and hums a bit 

“Fine, Mr. Smokey the Bear, I’ll stop. Though, I didn’t think I’d see you here, in all honesty.”

“That makes the two of us.”

“You’re the chipper one of the bunch, I reckon.” 

“Very funny .” 

“Well, I do pride myself on being a bit of a comedian, yeah.” 

He doesn’t look at her, or acknowledge her, not really, so he doesn’t see how she looks at him - curious and curiouser but there’s something about him that intrigues her, even if his fashion sense makes her want to beat him up a bit and maybe kiss him.

 

Well, that certainly came out of nowhere. 

_A+ job on that, Tooth._


	2. Kick Drum Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fumble around but it's something like hurricanes and hate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also up on tumblr uvu
> 
> you can find me there @ chrysanthemumskies.tumblr.com !

i.

She knows the streets of New York as if they are the back of her hand, knows who the street artists are, knows who to trust and who to avoid like the plague.

(Or rather, demolish.

If it came to that. But she hoped it didn’t because she’s not the type to demolish people. She can flip them off or yell at them, but she doesn’t think she could kill.

At least, she doesn’t like to think that she can kill.

She locks those memories up far far away and hope they never surface back up in her mind.) 

History should be easy, it’s like the stepping stone of everything. 

She should be able to make the connections, like the streets of New York. 

It doesn’t click in her head, despite everything.

Give her wires and an electric circuit board and she’ll have a series circuit up and running with an equal amount of voltage distribution throughout all conductors. 

Tell her to write a essay on the history of Russia and the rise and fall of Tsars , well, then she had a bit of a problem.

And it wasn’t like she cared, that much.

(That was a lie, she did care. In fact, despite her appearance she had held herself to a mantra of keeping to a 3.9 to a 4.0 GPA even if it killed her.) 

It wasn’t like people thought she cared – they thought that the only thing on her mind was the best way to get drunk, or the best cigs available at the cheapest price.

Or something like gang wars, because clearly, toss on a leather jacket with some spikes and now you’re a hooligan with no brains.

It’s enough to make her blood boil. 

It’s why when she sits down (crashes down, really) next to Pitch that she can feel herself tense up and bristle quietly.

She plays it off, laughs in his face instead.

_It’s easier, to make them squirm. They hide away and don’t try to hurt you that way._

ii. 

He can’t stand her.

She makes him nervous, and doesn’t seem to care about it anyway, but she makes him fidget, makes his blood run cold and makes his throat close up.

So why is it, that the professor thinks that it would be simply splendid to pair them up for tutoring? 

Whose marvelous thought was that they would be _great_ paired up together? 

He can’t guarantee that he may very well strangle her if she doesn’t stop her gum chewing and popping, or the idle not giving a fuck and just smoking next to him. 

“You know, I don’t know why you’re here.” He mutters, fixing his tie and glasses before offering her a cool glance, eyes gleaming with a quiet animosity.

Tooth looks up from lounging back on her chair, resting her feet on the edge of the table, old combat boots torn up and painted over, with blues and silvers and purples with gold and red dancing around them. 

“Huh?” 

“Why the hell are you here?” he asks again, hands trembling because he doesn’t know why he’s angry, just that he’s boiling underneath and he doesn’t know why.

(Maybe it’s because he failed, and he needs to lash out.

There’s no room for failure, not for you Pitch.) 

 

He looks at her, glasses fogging up slowly and he doesn’t know why, but she regards him even more coolly, slowly moving forward and he freezes up, when she leans over him, violet eyes staring into his. 

She’s intimidating, and oddly pretty.

( Wait, what? Where did that come from, Pitchiner?) 

 

He realizes, that she’s angry, underneath it all. 

It’s odd, how they’re both angry, both simmering.   
Yet they both don’t want to open up.

It’s easier, to lash out at each other, in war. 

(Is this what it is, this little corner of the library, is it a war zone between them?) 

He loses his composure, sputters and flails a bit when she leans in closer – “W-what are you doing?” 

He thinks this is ridiculous, and highly inappropriate because she’s almost in his lap, if she loses her balance, that is. 

“Hm? I’m just looking you know.” Tooth mutters, before reaching closer and fixing up his glasses that had been lopsided on his face. 

“I need a new pair of glasses, and I was wondering what sort of lenses you have, so I wanted to take a closer look. What, it’s a crime now to look, hm?” She looks at him, and he can’t stop the warmth that crawls up onto his face and he feels like he would very much like to crawl into a hole out of side and out of mind thank you very much. 

“No but you’re awfully close and it’s uh not very helpful, if you know what I mean.” Pitch mutters, avoiding her gaze. 

She could only snicker a little, before bursting out into peals of laughter. 

“What, what did I do? I didn’t say anything funny!” 

He was puzzled by her behavior, but somehow he found her smile oddly nice. 

They didn’t get much work done that day, but somehow they chalked it up to the ridiculous amount of people who wouldn’t stay quiet. 

(Mainly it was Tooth’s fault because she wouldn’t keep quiet, so they got kicked out of the library, leaving Pitch to be in a exasperated mood because really now? The one place he had found some quiet solace in was now excluded from him. )

 

iii. 

They had agreed to meet up another day. 

(Actually their professor had approached them and said that they had to attend a certain amount of tutoring sessions before giving him a re-write of their essays. Best to get it over with as quickly as possible.) 

Somehow, there had been a pattern established, with the fall leaves slowly falling and the curling of the cigarette smoke, and the sound of Pitch’s voice, level and monotone and somehow patient as they sat on the rocks on campus, surrounded by the trees and autumn winds.

“Alright, let’s try this again. 1806 – major events that happened this year?” 

“It’s too fucking cold for me to think in this shitty as all fuck weather Pitch are you fucking kidding me right now?” 

 

“Language, Tooth. Besides, you could wear a proper outfit one of these days you know.” He mutters, and somehow avoids getting punched in the face.


	3. Sunbeams and Slides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they try to re- enact something along the lines of the play of Hamlet, and there are little sunbeams that dance all around them. 
> 
>  
> 
> or, the one where the playground plays a big number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me under chrysanthemumskies over on tumblr! 
> 
> i sort of tackled two birds w/ one stone with this one, as I included prompt #1 of Cavity Week in this chapter! Which was also inspired by a little doodle by Mem aka thememoryguardian over on tumblr.

i.

They fall into a haphazard pattern.   
It starts with cold autumn breezes that chill them to the bone, but somehow they make it into some sort of effort to meet up every Thursday for an hour or so, Pitch diligently pouring over notes and making outlines while Tooth crash lands into her designated seat by the window, kicking her legs up on the sofa seats by the wall and it’s her wind swept hair and cut off gloves that catch Pitch’s eye as he mutters “You’re late” and she can only sputter in protest and cook up some tale about how there was a cat stuck in a tree and she needed to climb it to rescue the life of a cat because it was a _cat_ Pitchiner, how can you resist a _cat_ ?

He can only roll his eyes before muttering a “Let’s get to work before the sun sets and I’m late for class _again_ ”, Toothiana.” 

She could only roll her eyes and huff “Fiiiiiiiiiiine, fine! By the way, It’s Tooth. You don’t have to call me Toothiana. You sound like my grandmother when you call me that.” 

Pitch could only mirror her and roll his eyes in return, but that’s how it was.

It was quiet and weird but somehow it worked.

Ii.

After a constant basis of study groups and flash cards and organizers that Pitch had made her do (he was taking things way too seriously, in her opinion), the day of the second essay had rolled around.

It wasn’t a re-write, more like a mini project of (death) interest to the professor, who had wanted an analysis of the modern influences of the second World War on present day Europe. It was simple enough to write and maybe she’d even get a decent grade on this essay, the thought had ran through Pitch’s head because he really would have liked to get rid of the punk who seemed to be hellbent on dragging him to the most random places at times in order to ‘study’ when in fact he was sure she was planning his untimely demise in slow, painful processes.   
Even though it was _obvious_ in Tooth’s head that the reason _why_ World War II had happened was that it was a secret zombie invasion planned by the most vile people in the history of _ever_ , at least that was probably the Red Bull talking that Tooth managed to guzzle down before stumbling down into class in attempt to stay awake and slay the dragon or well, actually write this essay, jumbled thoughts and headphones blaring some sort of angry punk band as if it was the static buzz of a nest of angry bees instead of music that was supposed to go and make you want to take over the world.

Still, she had somehow found a seat next to Pitch out of all people (he could only hold himself back from rolling his eyes at the arrangement but shot her a secret little ‘thumbs up’ for good luck as she received the exam booklet and prompt paper) and managed to fish out a pen out of the never ending sea of pockets in her old worn out dark blue hoodie. 

She can do this.

They’ve only gone over this material about ten times already. 

iii. 

It was a warm afternoon, specifically on a _Thursday_ out of all days, that she had dragged Pitch to one of the old playgrounds that she had found while wandering around the city because clearly she didn’t have important things such as actually passing her class – to do. 

“Hurry up already Pitchiner! You’re like a turtle, I swear to god. Always hunched over and hiding in your shell. Live a little will you?” Tooth yelled, before dancing through the oncoming traffic, yellow taxis zooming and nyooming on by as she danced to the beat of her headphones and managed to cross the street in record time, leaving one disgruntled Pitch Black to tap his foot and tug at the hem of his cardigan. 

“Really now, she clearly wants to be a pancake if she keeps on doing that. One day she’ll get hit by a car and then I’ll be the one to have to deal with the goddamn ambulance wailing and how about I avoid getting involved in bloody messes, especially where _she’s_ concerned.” Pitch muttered to himself, before calmly crossing the street and sighing. 

“Where _exactly_ are you taking me anyway, Toothiana?” 

“For the billionth time Pitch, it’s _Tooth_. “ 

“Actually it can’t even be the billionth time, because half the time I’m forced into a semi coherent conversation with _you_ of all people, I want to strangle something and keep quiet instead. “ 

“Alright alright Mr. Sour Puss. It’s actually the 159th time, to be honest.”

“What?”

“What, you’re going to _ignore_ me now, Pitchiner? And here I thought we were _friends_.” Tooth let out a long exasperated sigh, before lighting up a cigarette and walking a few steps ahead of him. 

“It’s the 159th time that you’ve insisted on using my ‘formal’ name.”   
A puff of smoke from her violet tinted lips curled around him and he waved it away with his hand before coughing slightly. 

“How did you – “ 

“It’s really easy, to be honest. Everyone thinks I don’t notice _shit_ and that I’d rather be out getting high instead of going to class, but they get so _predictable_ that it’s easy to spot their repetitive patterns. Like, you have a bad habit of biting your lip and fiddling with your glasses whenever you get stressed or frustrated. You may need to invest in some lip gloss, or lip balm , Pitchiner. All that biting can’t be great for your lips.” 

“It’s Pitch.”

She raises an eyebrow at him before smiling at him. 

“Oh?”

“Call me Pitch. It’s better than Pitchiner anyway, that sounds like I’m some old bucket about to get kicked. Or something you’d find in the janitor’s closet.”   
Tooth let out a low whistle before draping her arm around him, the pins on her vest digging slightly into his shoulder and she could only laugh before muttering “Well, I didn’t know you had a sense of humor. And here I thought you were a robot, sent to destroy the human race as we know it.”

He shrugged her arm off before walking forward and muttering “You watch too much cartoons for someone your age, Tooth.”

Tooth, in the mean time , could only let out a pleased little laugh and shook her head before pulling him in the other direction, towards an old collection of statues and what seemed to be a playground. 

“Really? A playground?” Pitch muttered, eyes narrowing in annoyance behind the glasses that he wore. 

“What? It’s quiet! There’s no one here at this time anyway, and it’s better to study out in the open air then in the confines of a coffee shop, Pitch.” 

He could only roll his eyes and mutter something about how she’s like a five year old kid and not a college student. 

She didn’t have the mind to tell him off, but she did show him the bird before running towards the playground, and up the little island on top of the wave slide that was built to resemble an old fortress.

 

“C’mon Pitch! I’ll grow old and die here before you get up here!” 

Grumbling, he made his way over, shifting his books and notes from one arm to the other. 

iv. 

She had climbed to the top and had decided to lie down on her stomach , resting her head in her hands as she watched Pitch come closer and hesitantly wipe at the edge of the slide with the sleeve of his cardigan. 

“Really now, that’s not going to help much, you know.” 

“You know, you should really get down here and we should get studying, Tooth.” Pitch huffed, looking up at the girl who seemed to be like a lazy cat , caught in the sun. 

“But, but, I’m simply a princess stuck in a castle, locked away against my own will!” Tooth cried, rolling over dramatically while looking at Pitch from underneath the multicolored fringe that she had recently dyed again. 

“I just need a prince to save me!” 

Pitch rolled his eyes at her before muttering something under his breath. 

Tooth let out a little ‘hmpf’ before sitting up on her knees and shouting “What was that? Couldn’t hear you Pitchy Pitch!” 

Pitch could only count to ten and hope that he wasn’t going to pop a blood vessel because _what_ did she just call him? 

“I said – “ 

Tooth squinted her eyes before putting her hand to her ear and saying “Whaaaaaaaaaaaat? Still can’t hear you!” 

Rolling his eyes (he seemed to wonder if his eyes would eventually get stuck in a loop of gradual displeasure and eye rolling at this rate) Pitch rolled up his sleeves before grumbling and climbed up the slide, before slightly slipping and flailing against the cool metal of the contraption. 

It wasn’t until Tooth’s arms held him in place and he looked up, glasses askew and hair a little disheveled and her face was stone cold, as if there were age old wars that she had fought in, and old wicker worn cages that never seemed to let her escape from their cluthes. 

Suddenly, she leaned forward, far too close for comfort and he could only let out a strangled little “Uh uhm uh—“ before she stared him down and moved even more closer, licked her lips before grinning and whispering in his ears – 

_“Long live the king”_

\- And suddenly, he was skidding down the slide and landed on the asphalt in a flailing pile of limbs as Tooth’s laughter echoed from the fortress above, with the sunbeams dancing all around.   
-


	4. Old Ivory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out a bit more about Toothiana's past, there's a bit of a fight and refuge underneath the trees.

They say to keep away, that once you end up learning how the streets work and which way to cross the street into unknown territory that you better know how to throw a punch and how to bare your teeth because they’ll tear you to shreds if you have a pretty little face.   
(At least that’s what the old cogs at the bar would tell her when she would make her daily rounds, an old ivory handle knife dancing along her fingertips as she’d stare them down and try to map out the new pieces of information in her head that they’d spew out after a few games of darts where their hands met her knife if they were being a tad bit too forward. 

_That’s another one of those rings that started up again. What does that make it now – a radius of five blocks per drug ring? Next thing I know we’ll be hearing cases of rampant drug outbreaks and they’ll be trying to stop every kid on the street._

_Great. Just Peachy._ )

She’d come and go in a flurry of color, with nothing but a crumpled up ten shoved in one of the dirty glasses that sat on the bar and no one talked of her, but they did whisper of the kid who had that ivory knife and gave her a nickname – The Tooth Fairy. Story went that out of nowhere this kid would start slowly taking apart the drug rings that were cropping up around town – small ones of course, but still – they said that she remembered every detail and every place, with every individual that was involved. They said she’d come at night or during the morning hours where the sun was just rising, and once the police came there’d be nothing left but a golden little coin with a tooth printed on it, and a crayon drawing of a hummingbird as if a five year old drew it and left it there as a gift. 

In and out, as if she could fly and zip around on the wind with no one to tail her. 

(They say she jokingly calls the members of her gang Baby Tooths, but those are just rumors – can’t trust a word out of anyone’s mouth these days. ) 

Still, they said that the Tooth Fairy doesn’t exist anymore, that the girl has stopped doing the whole vigilante sort of shindig with taking down small drug rings and instead she’s focusing on some sort of positive outlook in life.

At least, that’s what’s been buzzing around on twitter. More accurately, it was everything that Pitch Black could find about someone named ‘Toothiana’ and who had ridiculous and obnoxious hair coloring choices in life. And what, it’s not his fault he was tired of waiting and she was late by twenty minutes. And he might have been far too engrossed in scrolling through the twitter feed of the account that he had made (the excuse was that it was an old twitter account that he had never used for years now and he figured he might as well get with the present day and age and actually use it) that he didn’t realize or hear someone come up from behind and lean in close until a voice spoke in his ear “Find anything interesting, Sherlock Holmes?” 

( _Speak of the fucking Devil_ ) 

Which he _did not_ jump thank you very much, but he did slam his laptop down and glared at her, glasses ending up being haphazardly moving as he whipped his head to look at her, bright colors and what seemed to be a lollipop in her mouth.   
“What ? I did _text_ you if you would have looked at your phone Pitchykins.” Toothiana said, taking out the candy before staring and waving it at him as a sort of pointer, at which Pitch leaned back as far as he could to avoid the candy. 

“Stop waving that around it has your _germs_ on it. Don’t you know what germs are Toothiana? Because I don’t think you do and I don’t think you watch the news _either_ because you’d know that it’s _flu season_ and people are getting sick and _dying_ . Also don’t call me _that_ ” He muttered, fixing his glasses and glaring at her, which earned him no response other than the scrape of a wooden chair on linoleum and the smack of her lips on the candy . 

“Yes yes yes of course Oogie Boogie. “ Toothiana muttered, rolling her eyes and flipping the chair so that she could rest her arms on the back of it while facing Pitch. “You know you could just sit like everyone else and – “ 

“Nah. Don’t feel like it. “ 

A minute of staring, then two, and it’s only then that Pitch threw his hands up in the air and let out a groan of frustration . “How the _hell_ did you end up here. Why the hell am I stuck with _you_ out of all people for this project. “ He muttered, pulling his hair and huffing as Tooth watched with a bored expression on her face. 

“You know, I don’t want to be here _either_ , especially not with a petulant man-child who can’t step out of his prudish little shell for one second to help a fellow student out. Also what the fuck is your problem – yeah, I haven’t been all caught up on the news because I don’t have the time for fucking news, Pitch Black – get off your fucking high horse or if you want, I can punch it out of you.” She grumbled, before kicking the legs of his chair (a tad too hard) and accidentally stubbed her toe, causing her to yelp and jump up, cursing under her breath. 

_‘She’s right you know, you being so stuck up and judgmental isn’t going to get you two anywhere, especially not if you two want to pass the class and possibly you know, remain on okay – “Please Don’t Beat Me Up Maybe In the Future” – terms .’_

“Shit wait – Toothi—“ 

“Fuck _off_ Pitch Black. “ She snarled, before turning and making her way out of the library, hands stuffed in her jacket pocket and a glare in her eyes as her boots stomped off on the ground. 

It was then that Pitch realized that he should a) probably apologize and b) explain why he was looking up stuff about Toothiana instead of just point blank asking if there was any shady business which she would have been involved with.

(Just for the sake of his own conscious, of course. Nothing else.) 

Scrambling to his feet, he shoved the laptop back into his bag, grabbed the books that were neatly stacked on the table and jacket and ran out, skidding to a stop when it started to pour buckets outside before rubbing his glasses and looked for Toothiana, muttering to himself that she shouldn’t have gone off too far that he probably could still catch her and not have his laptop be soaked entirely and thus ruined beyond repair.   
It was then that he spotted her, ducking underneath the small row of trees that made a little path heading towards the other side of campus, and it was then that he decided to make a dash for it, flailing limbs and a yell or two because the rain was _freezing_ and his cardigan was no match for it. The yells did catch Toothiana’s attention, who cocked her head in his general direction and yelled “Hurry up Chicken Legs, else your precious computer’s gonna die!” 

(Somewhere in her voice maybe there was the beginnings of a little hope of patching things up. After all, the quicker they finish this tutoring shin dig, the quicker things can go back to normal with her doing her own thing and Pitch Black doing whatever the fuck Pitch Black well, does.)


End file.
